Dead Men Walking
by aranenumenesse
Summary: Logan and Marie in a zombie infested town. Crossover with Romero's zombiethemed movies. Warning: Character death.


"Wake up, kid. Incoming."

"I'm awake. Incoming? Hardly. More like drooling and stumbling…"

"They're slow, but that doesn't mean they're harmless. Get them. I'm not going out this time."

"Fine."

Five more or less precise blasts of shotgun later perimeter was safe and silent again. He swept over rotting corpses littering the ground with his gaze, counting and memorizing each and every one of them. It didn't look like they would wake up again, but it wouldn't hurt to remember where they lay, just in case. Marie was sitting under the window, leaning her back against the wall and loading the shotgun. He counted red cylinders in the cartridge at her feet. Twenty. Twenty left.

"These won't last forever. What are we going to do when we ran out of ammunition?"

"I'll start chopping them up."

"Uh…"

"Unless of course if you have a better idea…"

"No! No! It's just… Gross. How can you talk about it like that?"

"Like what?"

"They're human!"

"They're dead people who try to make a meal out of us, Marie. I'm not going to offer us for them on a silver platter. If they want to take a bite out of me, they're going to have to work for it."

Work for it. For the past couple of days they had been working. Busting their asses quite literally. For Logan's delight Marie was an excellent shooter. With a rifle she had been lethal, felling walking corpses with every shot. Now, armed with a shotgun she had given new meaning to the word massacre. She liked to toy with their assailants, letting them close enough for him to be able to smell their stench before pulling the trigger and splattering them to bits and pieces all over the front lawn.

"Would it hurt you not to drop them all right under the air vent?"

"Nope. Where would you like them?"

"Little further. I don't know if you have noticed, but air is getting kind of stale in here. And they have promised that tomorrow's going to be a warm day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Think of all that meat. On the front porch. In the sun."

"Oh…"

"Think of flies and maggots."

"Eww! Logan!"

"Would it be impossible to drop them before they reach the house?"

"Alright, alright! Oh, ick… I think I'm going to be sick…"

"Hurl in the sink if you have to. Only water we have is in the toilet bowl."

"Logan!"

* * *

She was sleeping when the next wave hit. Six of them. Reeking of rotten flesh and shit, thick layer of clotted blood covering their hands and jaws. He left her sleeping with the shotgun, went outside and finished them with his claws. For some reason they seemed to be more alert at night, and any kind of noise would draw whole pack of them to the scene. Six of them were easy. Hell, even ten he could take on with no problems. He could have swept the whole fucking place clean all by himself if it wasn't for the kid. Marie. He had promised to take care of her. He couldn't very well just waltz around slaying zombies. Every minute he spent away from her he was putting her in danger. Even now an army of these schmucks could be stumbling in to the house through the back door. Of course he had barricaded and booby-trapped every doorway and window in the house with Marie, but walking stiffs were just slow, not stupid. They were almost frighteningly clever when they had a clear goal.

"Logan?"

"Just me, kid. Go back to sleep."

"Where did you go?"

"Out to have a smoke."

"Do you think we'll get out of here?"

"Yeah."

"There are real people somewhere out there left?"

"Yeah. Just go back to sleep. I'll wake you up if anything happens, okay?"

"Okay… Good night, Logan."

"Good night, kid."

When she was awake, leaning against the windowsill, holding the shotgun and grinning from ear to ear, shouting obscenities for zombies she looked so confident. Much older than now. She had curled to the couch on her side, face turned towards the room, hands clasped tightly under her jaw. She was nearly twenty, and looked about ten, clutching the butt of the shotgun even in her sleep like it was her favorite teddy. He grasped the weapon and removed her hands from around it carefully before putting it down to the floor in front of the couch. She had been having nightmares for the past couple of nights. He didn't want her to hurt herself or waste any more shells than it was absolutely necessary. He dragged a chair in front of the window. Opened it slightly, folded his massive frame on the creaky chair carefully and lit a cigar. Let his gaze wander over corpses on the lawn once more, taking the body count for what felt like the thousandth time before relaxing to observing the surrounding neighborhood for movement. Six hours before dawn.

* * *

"I'm hungry."

"Dinner's outside. Just go and grab a bite."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm a vegetarian."

"I leave leaves to bunnies. Good, rare steak keeps me going. And beer. Fuck. I would kill for a beer right now."

"Are you sure that was the last cartridge?"

"I have turned this place upside down. Next we'll have to start throwing things at them if I don't go out."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit indeed."

She had used their last ammunition nearly an hour ago. Now shotgun was as useless as the rifle they had discarded earlier. Everything looked calm and peaceful. No walking corpses aside from those that lay in front of the house scattered to pieces. His knuckles were itching.

"We could go shopping."

"Huh?"

"This is USA. I'm betting every house on this street is equipped with enough weaponry to start World War 3. We wouldn't have to go far. Just over the fence to the next house. And if we don't find any guns or ammunition from there, to the house next to that."

"Have you lost your fucking mind? Bunny hopping over the fences and breaking in to houses while we can't be sure how many of those walking carcasses are out there? Or inside of those houses?"

"Do you have a better idea? If we're lucky, we might even find other people!"

"Yeah. And if we're not so lucky we find people of the ripe variety…"

"Logan! I'm tired of sitting in here and waiting! I'm tired of being afraid all the time! I need to do something before I go nuts!"

"Too late."

"Too late for what?"

"You're nuts already…"

It was quite possible that he wasn't in the same department with mentally healthy folks, either. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't come up with a plausible excuse to stay in the house they had first broken in. Truth to be told he was getting sick and tired of the stench of decay wafting from the front porch, and prospect of finding a fridge well stocked with beer and beef made the decision of leaving surprisingly easy. They inched out through the backdoor, taking in their surroundings, both straining their senses to catch the first sign of assault. Fence to their left was made of concrete, and nearly two meters high. That left them only one option, to go to right. Fence dividing the two yards over there was more traditional, picket fence painted white. Paint was peeling and boards on the fence needed fixing, he noted absently before stepping over the fence and helping Marie over it, too.

"I'll go first. Stay behind me."

"Yes, mom."

"Marie."

"Alright. I'll behave."

"Brat."

He couldn't resist ruffling her hair. She rewarded him with a toothy glare and swatted his hand off, smoothing down her long locks before grabbing the poker she had brought with her tighter. He extended one claw and pushed it between the door and the frame, slicing through the lock and wincing when metal coating of his claw squeaked against the metal of the lock. If anybody was in the house, alive or not so alive, they certainly knew now about their visitors. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Marie reassuringly. She looked a bit pale, but nodded and lifted the poker, brave gleam flowing in to her eyes. She was ready. Heaven or hell behind that door, she was ready for both of them.

* * *

"Come on. You were hungry."

"Not that hungry. That stuff is ready to walk out from the fridge on its own."

"Beggars can't be choosers. Eat before you keel over."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Cut it out."

"You're just mad because there was no beer."

"No. I'm angry as hell because we managed to stumble in to the only truly pacifist household on this whole fucking continent, that's all…"

House was small and neat. Walls lined with religious paintings. That should have tipped him off even before he searched through the whole place for any kind of weapon and returned to kitchen empty handed. Marie was sitting there, munching slightly stale bread covered with less stale slices of something she called tofu. Looked like meat, even smelt like meat, but wasn't meat. And there was no beer or any kind of alcohol in the house either. He wasn't mad. He wasn't even angry. He was tired. He had last slept little over three days ago. He had last eaten little over three days ago. He had had last beer little over three days ago. Just before everything went straight to hell, he got strapped with a smart mouthed brat and dead people started tumbling upon them from behind every fucking street corner. He sat opposite her and leaned his elbows against the table, resting his itchy, burning eyes behind closed lids. He could actually feel the smoke from cigars he had smoked almost non-stop for the past days swirling in his lungs, heavy fog, sticky from tar and nicotine. It would be so fucking easy. Just leave her here. Maybe cut her up a little, just enough to cripple her and make the blood flowing to draw any wandering stiffs to her direction. Then he opened his eyes and met her steady gaze. No. He wouldn't be leaving her.

"Ready to go?"

"Go?"

"Fuck. This was your idea. Over the fence. To next door. See if we can find some weapons from there."

"Oh… Of course. Sorry. I'm… I'm just tired."

"Join to the club. I'm the president. Permanently Pissed Off And Currently Tired Muties Of The America…"

His lame attempt of a joke lured a smile on her face. For a second she looked a lot like she probably should have looked all the time. Eyes twinkling, small dimples on her cheeks, lips parted slightly. Then her lips parted some more, formed an 'o', and half-eaten sandwich fell from her hand. He turned around and pushed away from the table, falling with the chair to the floor just in time to avoid an axe swinging towards his head. Instead of his skull it collided with the hard surface of the table, and zombie wielding it lost the grip from the handle. Axe fell to the floor and slid under the fridge. He grimaced and released both sets of claws, plunging them deep in to stiff's stomach and twisted sharply sideways when it leaned lower, filthy jaws snapping together, dribbling drool just inches from his face. Somewhere in the background Marie was screaming. He could only hope that it didn't meant that there was another zombie coming after her. He had his hands full at the moment. He poked and prodded, sliced and tore through stinking flesh, trying to find vertebrae. Corpse had fallen on top of him, face buried against his stomach, and he could feel it gnawing, trying to chew its way through his shirts. Stench of rotting meat was suffocating. He tried to breathe through his mouth and ended up gagging from the taste it left on his tongue and to the back of his throat. Then he suddenly felt it. Something hard against his claws. He pushed harder, forced his fists together and twisted his wrists. Claws acted as a pair of scissors. Very large, very sharp scissors. He could hear bone cracking and suddenly corpse was just corpse. Laying on top of him heavy and silent, unmoving. He pushed it away and crawled partially up, dragging his butt against the linoleum until he felt a wall behind his back. Marie was okay. There had been only one walking corpse. He shivered and spat out the acrid bile that had risen to the back of his throat. Stared at his hands. There was no fucking way he was going to pull his claws back in. Not before he could wash them thoroughly with lye. Covered in greenish goo and shit and bits and pieces he didn't even want to identify.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah… Just give me a sec…"

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"From Hell, that's for sure…"

"You're bleeding!"

"Don't worry. It'll stop. I'll heal…"

An axe. Walking poster of the local mortician had actually used a weapon to hunt. They sure were getting smarter day after day. How long until they were able to outwit him? He crawled up from the floor, and out of habit walked to the kitchen sink, yanking the drain open with his elbow. Instead of strong stream of cold, crisp water he got tepid dribble of lukewarm liquid that could have been water at some point of its existence. He didn't mind. It was enough to clean off the worst mess from his hands and he could pull his claws back in without thinking too much of where they had been just few minutes ago.

"We better get going before rest of our guests arrive."

"Wait! I'll… I'll take the axe. Could you move that fridge?"

"Yeah. Good thinking, kid."

Again he ruffled her hair. This time she didn't glare at him. Instead she hugged him gently before kneeling down and reaching under the fridge when he tilted it. This was it. He could just let it fall on her hands. She would scream like a stabbed pig, that ruckus would draw any stiff within kilometer radius in here, and he could be on his way out of this hellhole rather than stuck in here hunting weapons so he could hunt the walking dead. Then she turned her head and flashed him one of her rare, genuine smiles. He was quite sure he had gotten exactly three real smiles from her during these three days he had known her.

"Could you lift it a bit higher? I can't reach the axe yet…"

"Yeah. Wait, wait! Get away from there!"

"What… Logan!"

"Just… Get the fuck away from there… Before I slip…"

Whole weight of the fridge was resting on top of his left thigh. He had just barely managed to wedge his leg under the beast when his hold from it had slipped. It had saved Marie's hand. It had probably saved her fucking life. The thing was huge. Weighed like a sin. And heel of his boot was sliding slowly forward under pressure. Something slick, butter, blood? Who knew? He tried to scoot backwards and at the same time keep his leg bent to prevent the fridge from toppling over completely. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. Marie was standing behind her, expectant look on her face. Suddenly fridge tilted to the side. Not much, but enough for him to lurch free from under it. Heavy thud it made falling down echoed through the house. Loud enough to raise the dead he thought and grimaced, wiping off sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

* * *

In the next house they got lucky. Owner of the home had obviously been some kind of survivalist, or honorary member of Firearm Owner's Association. House was well stocked with every kind of weaponry from swords to full automatic rifles. Remembering the look on Marie's face when he was about to become trapped under that fucking fridge Logan chose most efficient weapons for himself and gave her two small caliber handguns. Better to be safe than sorry. She could easily hold down attacking corpse with those, but wouldn't be able to do much harm to him.

"We should probably try to find a radio. Wouldn't hurt to hear if the whole country is fucked up or just this town."

"A radio? You know how to use one?"

"Yeah. I'm not stupid, you know."

"I didn't mean it like that! I don't know how to use it!"

"Well, it's time to learn that, too. Just this Monday you were dead on sure that you couldn't use that rifle, either…"

At the fifth house they broke in they hit the jackpot. Basement of the sturdy brick fortress hid a well-equipped bomb shelter with built-in radio equipment and a generator. It came decorated with three zombies twisting and snarling, hanging from the roof at the end of thick ropes.

"What the fuck?"

"Just ignore them, kid. Probably owner of this joint and his family."

"Ignore them? When they're drooling and growling…"

"They can't get their paws on you as long as you keep your distance. Come over here, I'll show you how this thing works."

Next few hours they spent scanning through channel after channel, changing frequencies. It was the same all around the America. It was the same all around the world. White noise. Static where should have been human voices. At one point Logan thought he had heard something, a faint whisper from amidst the crackling, and he raised his head. Marie pointed behind them, where three corpses twitched on their ropes like perverted versions of puppets. They were wheezing and growling. Some of the noise they made sounded a lot like the whisper he had thought he had heard.

"This thing must be broken. There's no way in hell that this is happening everywhere. No chance in hell. No way."

"But what if it is? What are we going to do?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know the answer to her question. He knew how to operate the radio, but he had no slightest clue of how to see if it was working properly. For all he knew the thing could be fucked up six ways to Monday. For all he knew it could have been working just fine, transmitting the whole ugly truth to them, in which case there was nothing much left to do, but to maybe follow the example their hosts had set. That was of course if he could find enough rope for the two of them. He wouldn't die from the gunshot wound, and he sure as hell didn't trust her enough to believe that she would pull the trigger on herself after he was gone. She wasn't the type.

"From the way I see it, we have two options."

"What are they?"

"We could find some rope and a ladder for us."

"Or?"

"We could ditch this town. Gather supplies, find a working truck and hoard some gasoline and hit the road. Go and see for ourselves."

"Now that sounds like a plan!"

* * *

His stomach was itching from where the zombie had managed to bite him. His eyes felt like somebody had replaced his lids with a sanding paper. He wanted a beer. He wanted to get the hell away from this freaky town where the dead were walking on the streets in broad daylight. So they started ransacking houses with promising looking garages. Not the ones with oversized storages, but the ones that looked like somebody had actually planned to use the place for his car instead of tons of cardboard boxes and lawnmowers. Third garage yielded them a truck. Nothing fancy, but it was big and sturdy, and Logan knew from earlier experience that it wasn't guzzling gasoline like some of the newer models on the market. Next thing they would have to do was to find the keys for it and pack up supplies. Food, weapons, spare parts and gasoline for the truck.

"This is gross! Wouldn't it have been more efficient if they just shot themselves?"

"Probably. But not too many people have the balls to do it. Come on, you can look from the kitchen. I'll go through their pockets."

Again they met twitching and drooling corpses, this time hanging from the ceiling of the dining hall. For some reason people around here seemed to think that hanging was the best way to commit suicide instead of splattering your brain all over the place with a shotgun that sat empty at the corner. Owner of the house had probably tried to fend off attacking zombies with it at first, then he had run out of ammo. Instead of trying what Logan and Marie tried to do now, getting out of town, he had decided it would be for the best to hang his whole family and himself. Four corpses growled and snapped their jaws when he went through their pockets. Father, mother and two children. Boy and a girl. Faces and tongues bloated from the blood packed in their heads, legs hanging limply, hands flailing and grasping, trying to get a hold from him. He snarled and lopped off their hands from above their wrists to stop them from scratching him while he searched for the car keys. They kept beating him with bloodied stubs of their arms, smearing him to their blackened blood and sticky fluids leaking from the muscle tissue. Scent of it was horrid. He would have to wash himself and find some new clothes before they sat in the truck.

"Found them!"

"Nice. Now we have to find some water and soap. These guys are beyond rank, and so am I…"

"Uh, eww… I'm not coming in to that car with you, stinky-boy!"

"Well, give me a hand then! Go and see if there's a working faucet somewhere in this joint!"

Water pressure was nonexistent, and water itself as stale and warm as it was at the previous time they had tried, but again it was better than nothing. They drained all the water still left on the house's plumbing to a kettle. Then, armed with soap, wet-wipes and that said kettle Logan closed himself in the bathroom. Marie went looking for some new clothes for him after he had checked that there were no unwanted guests roaming around the house. He used the soap and the water to wash his hair, then cleaned up the rest with wet-wipes. They were some floral scented brand and left a faint, but distinctive aroma of lavender and lilacs floating around him. Nice. Not only he craved that beer even more desperately than earlier, he reeked now like he had taken a good stumble at the local whorehouse. Well, it was better than the stench of rotting corpses.

"Daddy was from the larger side of Sears, but I found these from the back of his closet. I guess he was in slimmer shape few years back."

"These will do just fine. Thanks. Maybe you should go and see if you could find some clothes for yourself, too. We won't be stopping for shopping anytime soon…"

Leather pants and jacket she had found fit him like a second skin. They were tight and rigid from lying unused, but they would loosen up soon. At least he hoped so. It was hard to move your arms, and pants left little, if nothing for the imagination. Only thing missing was a strategically placed zipper at the crotch of the pants, and he would be all set to star in an x-rated movie. He crouched slightly and winced when unyielding leather tugged at his balls. It would be a bitch to fight in this getup. He would have to find more comfortable clothes soon. He walked, black leather creaking over to the room Marie had entered earlier. She was pulling out clothes from a closet, holding them against her in front of a full-length mirror, trying to see if they fit. It was the girl's room. Clothes were colorful, and he could see even before Marie had them on that they would be a tight fit. Nice. Very nice… Clothes she had on now looked like she had stolen them from the Salvation Army, and three girls of her size would have fit underneath them with no problem at all.

* * *

"Okay. Next stop gas station. Fasten your seatbelts, keep your hands inside of the vehicle and what ever you do, do not disturb the driver!"

"Christ. Cut it out. I'm not in the mood, kid."

"You sure are in the mood. Permanently cranky mood…"

"Shut up and drive. And keep your eyes open."

They had not one, but two shotguns, three rifles and Marie's two handguns. While Marie was driving and searching for the nearest gas station he was loading the weapons and keeping watch for in case unsuspecting zombies happened to stumble on their way. He was so tired that his hands were trembling, and it was hard to grasp shells, and even smaller bullets. He spilled the contents of a small cardboard box to the floor, and he had to lean forward to scoop up the small lead pebbles. Suddenly Marie cursed and the truck lurched forward violently before coming to an abrupt halt. He banged his head against the dashboard, and for few seconds bright flashes of light blurred his vision.

"What the fuck are you playing at?"

"Sorry. Drove over one of them. It came out of nowhere! I didn't know they could move so fast…"

"Fast? They have been dragging their asses so slowly that even a three year old could outrun them! Are you sure it was one of them?"

"I'm sure! I know what I saw! It was a dog! Both sides torn open and it was missing a paw!"

"Well, what are you waiting for? Keep going before its buddies arrive!"

"I would if I could! This piece of shit died on me!"

"I can't fucking believe this…"

They traded places and he turned the key. It was no use. Truck was as good as dead. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Of course everything had been little too perfect. Little too easy. Too nice and quiet. Nice and quiet wouldn't last long. They had been hiding in the suburbia. Now they were almost smack dab middle of the town, surrounded by shops and offices. What ever had caused this, killed off approximately 99 percent of the population and brought them back from the dead had happened in the middle of the day. Buildings lining the road were probably crawling with rotting corpses. Nausea gripped the bottom of his stomach from the mere thought of the horde waiting out there. Waiting and stalking until they gathered their courage and left the car. Ventured deeper in to the infested town. Double-shit and triple-fuck.

"We'll have to walk."

"Walk? And how far do you expect us to get by foot?"

"Don't have a clue, but there's no way I'm going in to those parking halls to find another car. They're probably filled to the brim with our hungry friends."

"Logan…"

"Hush. Let me think."

* * *

They inched out from the truck silently. Logan had reluctantly given in to Marie's reasoning, and had given all firearms to her. He could fend off zombies that got too close with his claws, and she being the better marksman between the two of them could drop them at range. They were going to try to find a shop that sold motorcycles. Logan was at home riding one of those beasts, and Marie could sit behind him. At first she had tried to suggest that he could teach her how to drive. He had laughed out loud. He wasn't going to turn in to a driving instructor in this hellhole.

"It's so quiet…"

"Calm before the storm. They're watching us. I can feel it. Just waiting for the perfect moment to jump on us."

"Paranoid much?"

"Enough to keep us both alive, I hope. Stay close to me. Do as I say. Don't wander off or forgot to stare at some fucking frilly dress at the shop window."

"Logan! What dress?"

"The one on your right. Don't look at it. I'm quite sure that those mannequins aren't supposed to dribble drool and black puss all over the clothes they're wearing."

"What… I'm looking at it. It's looking at me. It's looking at me!"

"I told you not to look at it! Come on, we better run!"

Sound of shattering glass raining on the asphalt covered the echo of their footsteps momentarily. She turned to look. Zombie stood in front of the window it had just busted through, staring dumbly towards the ground. Sharp shard of glass had sliced off half of its head. It fell to the ground slowly. It felt almost as you were looking at a movie in slow motion. First its knees buckled slightly. The whole upper body started to tilt forward, until it reached the balance point, and whole zombie fell to the ground with wet thud. Just as she was about to tell Logan that they could stop two more zombies stepped out through the broken window and kneeled down to feed on their fallen companion.

"Wait! Wait! Ow! I think I twisted my ankle!"

"No time to drag your ass now! Run!"

"But…"

"Run! There's more of them coming out from every store we pass by!"

"I can't fucking run! My ankle hurts!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake…"

He scooped her up hurriedly and made a mad dash forward just in time to avoid pair of hands reaching towards them from the beauty parlor. He moved to the middle of the road to avoid getting caught so easily and continued to run, carrying Marie. She was a small girl, but added weight of their weaponry hanging from her made it difficult to keep the balance. He stumbled a bit. His foot got caught in the crack on the pavement and he fell down. Marie let out a startled yelp and rubbed her hurt behind. He had skinned his palms, and left knee of his brand spanking new leather pants was torn as well. Small sharp pebbles of stone had sunk in to the skin underneath. He shook his head to get rid of the momentarily dizziness and stood up, pulling Marie up on his arms again.

"Shit."

"Fucking shit."

Street was blocked. Zombies had managed to swarm them. He lowered Marie carefully to the ground and took a shotgun from her.

"Start shooting. As soon as the weapon is empty, throw it away. We won't have time for re-loading…"

He didn't have time to give any more instructions. Rotting horde was approaching. He tried to keep the ones behind their back away while Marie was clearing up their front side, trying to get down as many zombies as possible to give them a chance to break through their ranks. At first it looked like it was working. She had managed to create considerable gap to the tightly packed mass of corpses and some of the still walking zombies were already turning away, crouching down and ripping pieces from their fallen mates rather than trying to get through the hail of bullets she kept spewing to their direction. On his side of the street he had already ran out of ammo, and was hacking zombies to pieces with his claws, forming a sorts of barricade from the fallen corpses in front of him. Suddenly he noticed he couldn't hear her shooting anymore. She had run out of ammo as well.

"What are we going to do now?"

"Start swinging!"

"Singing?"

"Swinging! Take the shotgun and use it as a cudgel!"

It wasn't working. Wasn't working at all. As soon as she managed to knock back one of the drooling monsters another one took its place. It didn't matter how hard she hit, they just kept coming. Nothing less of decapitation or blowing their brain out killed them, and she simply didn't have strength to swing the shotgun hard enough to break their skulls. Logan grabbed her and pushed her against the wall, trying to stop hungry horde from getting her. It was probably the wisest move he had made during the whole time they had spent together. As soon as he had squashed her between the cold concrete and his back, something tore through zombies in front of them, blowing off huge chunks of flesh and blowing open bloated bodies. It wasn't until few seconds later that he recognized the sound of the heavy automatic rifles.

"Cavalry's here!" He shouted over the noise, turned towards Marie and pushed her even closer against the wall, trying to shield her from ricocheting bullets. He could feel few of them scraping his back, and one sunk somewhere below his knee, but it was a small price to pay when they got rid of their current company.

* * *

"Now that's a welcome sight!" He shouted when two olive green armored cars stopped in front of them, wheels sliding and crunching over brittle remains of the zombies. It took him a while to realize that something was wrong. Nobody came out from the cars. They just stood there. Then something small and black snaked out through a small hole drilled to the side of the car that stood closest of them. Small, black tube. It fell to the ground and cars started to back out from the alley. He tilted his head and stepped closer to the tube. There was a red light blinking on it. It made a small noise. Steady beeping. A marker. He could hear airplanes in the distance. Slowly his brain put it all together. Contaminated town. Marker. Airplanes.

"Shit! Now we really have to run!"

"Wha… Why?"

"They're going to torch this place! If we're going to get out of here alive, we'd better get as much distance between us and that marker as possible!"

They weren't far enough when he could already distinguish three planes on the horizon. Jets. Too close. He stopped. She was still limping forward, dragging her sprained leg.

"Might as well stop. We won't make it."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. They'll bee here in ten minutes."

"But…"

"I don't believe they nuke this place. They probably drop just enough napalm to charbroil everything that moves. Easier to clean up afterwards."

"But…"

"Sit down. It'll be over soon. We're still close enough. You won't feel a thing."

"But…"

"Just fucking sit down! You make me dizzy with that wobbling!"

"But there's a fucking lid to the sewers over there! Wouldn't it be much safer down there?"

"A sewer? Where?"

He pried the lid open. Helped her down in to the darkness. Followed her and closed the lid behind him. He couldn't hear the sound of the jet engines anymore, but he knew they were out there, approaching fast. They walked little further down the sewer, away from the lid. It was the only weak spot in their shelter. Foul stench that rose from the water made him gag.

They hadn't gotten far when sudden explosion from above threw them down. Heavy, invisible hand pushed them under water.

* * *

They came up coughing and spluttering after what felt like hours, but in reality just few seconds had passed. Listened. Felt the heat in the air. Cracks on the roof of the sewer from which black smoke and scent of burning flesh and gasoline gushed through.

"Napalm… Told you so…"

"Napalm-schmapalm… Lets get out of here before we suffocate…"

"Lets…"

They rose from the sewer just in time to meet the cleaning squad sent to the site. Heavily armed soldiers dressed to haz-mat suits. Marie went down first. Clean shot right between her eyes. They had to spend several rounds and considerable amount of time to Logan before he stopped twitching and trying to get up.


End file.
